Bumper Cars
by whatifellinlovewith
Summary: "It's not a big deal. Except he looked upset. And something about it has her stomach twisting with nerves, butterflies running rampant, making her hands shake and her knees quiver. It's not a big deal. But it sure feels like one." A 4x19, 47 Seconds post-ep.


" **You and me, we're bumper cars."**

* * *

 _Castle._

His image flashes into her mind, unwelcome.

Her chest aches. Her hands curl into tight fists at her sides. Her eyes burn, but she refuses to cry. Refuses to let herself cry.

It's not that big of a deal.

He just…left the precinct. Like he does every day.

It's not a big deal.

Except he looked upset. And something about it has her stomach twisting with nerves, butterflies running rampant, making her hands shake and her knees quiver.

It's not a big deal.

But it sure feels like one.

She shoves the door open, kicks it closed a little too hard. The sound echoes through her apartment, probably through the hall, too.

Her shoes land somewhere near the door, and her coat hits the floor. She heads straight for the kitchen, reaching up for one of the cupboard handles before she reaches the counter.

It only takes a minute before she's downed the first shot of scotch.

The glass lands on the counter, and she blinks against the burn of alcohol in her throat.

This isn't usually her drink of choice. It's his. The bottle sits in her cupboard for him. And now she's drinking it because of him.

Because he left.

And it may or may not be a big deal.

Her eyes fall shut, and her palm flattens over her side as she swallows back a sigh. She pours herself another glass of scotch, downs this one just as quickly as the first.

Her heart stutters, as though telling her what she already knows.

It is a big deal.

* * *

It's awkward.

It hasn't been awkward in a long time.

They're in the elevator together, side by side, but where butterflies and fleeting touches would usually be, she finds cold, hard anger and distance as painful as it always has been.

She hates it. She always has, but now she hates it more.

Because he's pulling away. And she wants to run after him.

The elevator lurches to a stop at the precinct lobby, and before she can process the open doors in front of her, he's walking away.

Again.

Walking away is supposed to be her thing.

But this time she runs after him.

The frantic clicks of her heels against the tiled floors have eyes drifting to her, cops watching her run after him. After her shadow. After the man they once made fun of her for. The one that had her making fun of herself.

And then loving herself.

And now almost hating herself.

She's not going to let it get any worse. She can't let him walk away. She can't lose him.

So she catches him by the arm, and he turns to face her.

His gaze is sharp, like daggers. Hers is pleading.

It's an odd turn of events.

"Do you, uh, want to come over and watch a movie?"

Confusion creases his brow, twists his lips into a frown, and she hates herself for the hope that wells in her chest and disappears just as quickly.

He shrugs her hand off, and her heart sinks.

"I can't. I have plans with Alexis."

He doesn't. It's obvious. He refuses to meet her gaze and shrugs one shoulder and part of her wants to shove him against the wall and demand answers.

Because all she wants to know is what she did wrong.

But a quiet _oh_ is all she manages. And he nods. And walks away.

* * *

It's cold in her apartment.

She's wrapped in a blanket, and burrowed in her bed, staring at the clock as the minutes tick by. And she's cold. Freezing. Her hands wrapped around her arms, her legs pressed against her chest.

The alarm on her phone blares, and she reaches over to silence it.

She has to get ready for work. But she can't bring herself to crawl out of bed.

And he's not even in the city.

He's in Vegas. Having fun. Partying. Posting about it online. And part of her thinks she shouldn't care.

The other part of her knows he's there because of her. He's avoiding her. He's punishing her, and she still doesn't know what for.

Her sigh gets caught in her chest, behind the lump in her throat, as she rolls onto her back.

For four years, they've been doing this dance. Carefully stepping around each other, towards each other only to part again. He's pulled her close when she wanted to walk away, and she's walked away when she wanted nothing more than to throw herself into his arms.

They danced.

And now…it's like he turned off the music. Without warning. Without conclusion.

And he left her standing here, on the dance floor, alone, her body begging for the familiarity of their steps, or for the joy of finally letting him pull her in close and sway her to a softer song.

Instead, she gets silence.

Unexplained silence.

And it _hurts._

She never has liked being on the dance floor. Her emotions out in the open for everyone to see.

But with him it was bearable.

Now it's…not.

It's painful, agonizing even, but she rolls out of bed anyway, and forces herself to avoid the internet as she heads for her shower and steps under the cascade of scalding water.

* * *

Lanie stares at her, a glass of wine perched in her hand, brows raised in question.

She really doesn't want to answer.

So she stalls. Making slow work of pouring herself a glass, forcing her lower lip between her teeth, fighting against the race of her heart.

Lanie doesn't _need_ to know.

Nobody needs to know.

It's a big deal. Yes. But it's between her and Castle. The two of them.

Except she's still standing here. Alone. Without him. Without her partner. Without the man she's in love with.

The man who was in love with her.

The man who left her.

She swallows back a sigh, smothers it with a gulp of wine. And stalls some more as she tops off her glass, the bottle still caught in her shaking hand.

She and Castle…they were on the cusp of something amazing.

And now he's stepping back, away from the edge, just as she was about to take his hand and step off it.

The glass bottle clinks against her countertop, and the sound echoes through the apartment as she looks up to meet Lanie's gaze.

"Something happened," she says.

Something changed.

* * *

"No time like the present."

She glances away from Lanie.

Funny, how she's thought that before, and then the present turned into a moment of heart crushing agony. And then turned into the past. And into a distant memory.

And now she and Castle are _this._

Whatever _this_ is.

She doesn't want to be _this_ anymore.

Her heart stutters, skips a beat, and she looks back at Lanie, her lip caught between her teeth.

Lanie's right.

She needs to do this now. She needs to make it right..

But it's not her choice. Because then he's showing up in his Ferrari with a blonde at his side, laughing and flirting and her heart is dropping, thudding painfully when it lands at her feet.

The present, _this_ present is already beginning it's painful spiral to nothingness.

And she didn't even get a chance.

* * *

" **The more I try to get to you,**

 **the more we crash apart."**


End file.
